Burning Down the House in Budapest

When I was six years old I was named a honoree firefighter when my first grade class visited the local firehouse. 18 years later, I earned that award.

Yep, I may have stopped a small fire from breaking out in my hostel last night.

At 3 a.m. I awoke to the smell of something burning. I tasted smoke before it stung my eyes. Still, I half consciously tossed and turned. With heavy eyes, I saw the the outlet next to the bunk behind me was flickering red and yellow.

Seeing small flames, I came to the conclusion that going back to sleep probably shouldn’t be very high on my agenda.

I told the receptionist. He ran into the room and woke up five of the seven other people in the room. The two unresponsive stragglers were both passed out drunk in their respective bunk beds. They were right next to the outlet.

The receptionist and I tried to jar them awake. But no amount of poking or prodding did the trick. We repeatedly warned them they were in danger of catching on fire. The guy on the bottom guy bunk finally opened one red eye and slurred in a British accent “Hey, I paid my full night. I’m not moving.”

More hostel staff showed up. I left the room to let them deal with it. Once the small fire was contained, the staff informed us of the culprit: One of the guys had puked onto the outlet. A small part of the surrounding wall and floorboards were burnt. Who knows if it would have spread.

Ahh, the joys of hostels. An Englishman who couldn’t hold his liquor once again proves what I said in a previous post: There’s bound to be at least one person in every hostel who’s completely inebriated and causing problems.

Still, drunken people who put others in danger of being engulfed by flames and all, I really do love the hostel experience. And I feel like I’m not giving a very good picture of Budapest. There’s great nightlife and cool architecture. Not to mention, Turkish baths are all over the city – which if nothing else, are great for rinsing away memories of puke and any other physical or mental harm dished out by drunken travelers wreaking havoc in dorms.


About Jared W.

I have to admit, I often blog. Most of what I write is day-to-day drivel type stuff that isn’t fit for public consumption. This blog will probably be much of the same, except it’s European backpacking drivel! The fact that I’ll be typing away in quant cafes and hostels during my 80-day journey surely elevates this blog to readable status. No? Well, whateva - skip my ramblings and admire all the pretty colors in my pictures. But keep reading if you want a more complete look at the life of a recent graduate turned happy vagabond. Promise I won’t write too much about “finding myself.” If I do, there’s a fair chance my computer and I have found a pub where Belgian or German beer is part of the afternoon happy hour. First stop: London.
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